


The Extended Drabble Compendium

by xbritomartx



Category: The Middleman (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:34:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2626940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xbritomartx/pseuds/xbritomartx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of 150 word-long Middleman ficlets done for a prompt challenge on LiveJournal. Mostly features Wendy and the Middleman.</p>
<p>Canon-compliant. Spoilers for unaired episodes and comics (if any) will be marked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happy Fourth

"Star-spangled banner, Dubbie! Do you know what these _are_?"

"No, but considering that, a, we're investigating irregularities surrounding the city's Fourth of July celebration, b, we're in the lair of a supervillain who calls himself 'The Firework,' and c, they all have fuses, I'm going to take a wild guess and say that it involves explosives."

"Exactly! I bet that The Firework is going to sneak them into the pyrotechnics display at tonight's celebration to blow up the city. The whole thing is--"

"Sheer elegance in its simplicity?" suggests a voice from behind them. Wendy registers the tone as an eight on the gloating scale, and groans.

"No," the Middleman retorts, as viciously (and originally) as he can manage. "Monstrous."

"Oh, too bad you think so. Because I'm giving you front row seats." He pulls the trigger of the knockout blaster.

They wake up tied to the ticking bomb.


	2. Til Death Do Us . . .

Even before the figure lurches out of the graveyard, Wendy's on edge. Tyler is late, it's getting dark, she's seen horror movies, and she knows that zombies exist. Then it comes, and even in the dusk she can see that it's Tyler, vacant-eyed and shambling. 

She snaps into Middlemode, repressing horror and grief to evaluate his gait. Too authentic to be an act. With every step he takes, she brainstorms a way to brain him. 

Just as she is about to use option six, he stumbles and lands on his right knee. His hands and head come up. The reassuring gleam in his eyes is matched by a hopeful gleam in the open box he's holding. 

"Marry me, Wendy Watson." 

Amid ecstatic affirmation and embraces, she wonders if he realizes how close he came to death. Wendy decides not to tell him, and goes into the restaurant on his arm.


	3. Telephonic Philanthropy

Double-doctor Barbara Thornfield had never met Roxy Wasserman, but she would have recognized the phrase _vapid and useless_. She had used to fantasize about her daughter. Her protégée, her partner, her successor. Instead, there was Lacey, twenty-four years of niggling disappointment. 

She was not sorry for missing Lacey's birthday. The starving, AIDS-ridden orphans of Kigali and Bujumbura genuinely needed help. But she did feel a little guilty, attributed the feeling to unfair expectations Lacey had, and added guilt-tripping to the list of Lacey's faults. 

Francis came in with the number, and she decided to forgive Lacey. The call would include "happy birthday," "how are you," even "I love you." 

Lacey picked up immediately, meaning she was still unemployed. She sounded as weakly hopeful as ever. The guilt twinged again, and instead of sticking to plan, the doctor spent the next three minutes attempting to justify herself to a rigged court.


	4. Simply Stupid

Their job is really about thwarting the villainous scheme somewhat before things reach the rampaging robot stage, but today one thing led to another, and now there is a robot rampaging in the central business district. 

Worse, Wendy is facing it alone. Her boss is off convincing innocent but hysterical bystanders that they're on a movie set.

The robot throws a helicopter.

"Oh, fff--ooey," she curses.

The robot decapitates Fatboy Tower.

She doesn't censor herself this time, and vaporizes the head before it crushes anyone. When she fires her laser cannon at the robot, the round bounces off and takes out half an office building.

"Your puny weapons are useless!" cackles a nearby laptop user whom Wendy concludes from the clichés and malevolent glee must be today's villain. She snatches the computer, and ends the rampage.exe task by pressing ctrl+alt+delete.

The robot collapses.

Wendy smiles. Sheer elegance in its simplicity.


	5. Dead Ringer

Today, the Middleteam is tackling a Lord of the Rings-themed supervillain.

No, really.

Well, possibly. 

Wendy hasn't ruled out the possibility that she's dreaming. She's gotten used to the fact that she can no longer tell the difference between abstract impressionist representations of paranormal phenomena, cracked-out nightmares, and work.

"So how are we going to take this guy down?" She asks as she matches her boss's brisk, determined pace through the halls of their office. "Sneak into his evil doom lair of doomy doom with the help of a sssschizophrenic hobbitoid? Issue long-winded motivational rants about the Men of the West? Toss his doomsday device into the firey depths of the nearest volcano?" She pauses, forehead crinkled in sudden confusion. "Where _is_ the nearest volcano?"

"No, Dubbie," he says grimly. "A Tolkien-obsessed, doom-orchestrating nerd has only one weakness." He lifts the receiver of the red Middlephone. "We call his mother."


End file.
